Iron Fic: Quidditch
by The Chairman
Summary: Contestants were given 24 hours to write 1500 words using Quidditch as the secret ingredient.
1. Untitled

"Nothing brings people together like booze, Quidditch and weddings," Bill had once told her. She had contested the first item, knowing that it usually brought people together in the manner of fist-meets-nose. And weddings she was still holding as debatable, since Bill and Fleur's had been good, Ron and Hermione's a few mishaps away from disaster, and George and Angelina's had nearly caused another war. But Quidditch? Definitely. From perfect strangers singing, and sometimes crying, with one another in pubs, to the glowing sense of camaraderie you felt at the World Cup, Quidditch was universal. Hell, in the past six weeks it had done what Ginny would have thought impossible previously.

It turned her and Blaise Zabini into friends. Granted, they were the sort of friends who would still kill each other if it meant they could have the last biscuit, but they had reached an understanding. All due to the hell that was called Collective Quidditch Tryouts.

Every minor and professional league team was scouting at the moment. It was a month and a half of grueling practices and drills. Ginny had been on a broom in every type of weather imaginable, including snow. The owners of each organization had wanted to see how they handled it, and had enchanted the practice arena. In any case, she'd watched the hope and passion drain from fellow Quidditch junkies like color from an ice pop over the past weeks. Now there were only about twenty of them left, all anxious to fill any open positions they could. Ginny and Blaise were both in the Chasers group – the largest of all – and had taken to subtly encouraging one another. She wasn't sure how it started – probably out of some Hogwarts versus the "others" bonding - but it continued because both of them were too damn stubborn to let the other fail at this point. They may not make the teams, but at least they could say that training camp hadn't beaten them. And not just them. All of the Chasers had come into camp with not so much chips as entire logs on their shoulders – each had something to prove. But after this, they were a team in and of themselves. It was funny, the way life worked out sometimes.

Now Ginny loomed over Blaise in the still dark hours of a rainy Saturday morning.

"Get up, Blaise!" she said, nudging him with a foot. "Get up!"

"Right, I'm up woman!" he griped, rising from the tiny bunk in the Chasers' quarters. He was already dressed in his clothes for the day.

"Did you sleep in –"

"No. Ainsley's snoring woke me an hour ago. Just got up and changed and thought I'd go back to sleep for…." He trailed off, looking out the window. "Hey wait! It's still dark outside! What are you playing at?"

"All Chasers on the field in twenty minutes," she said, then caught his dark look. "Don't shoot the messenger. Apparently they decided to go easy on us – they woke the Keepers by blaring the Wyrd Sisters through the speakers in their hall."

"What fresh hell do they have in store for us, do you think?" he asked, yawning.

"Maeve's going on about diving drills, Peter's sure they're going to put us through another obstacle course," Ginny listed, hoping the second one wasn't true. She'd had to explain a broken rib cage to Harry, which hadn't been fun. "The twins, Ezra and Emily, just think they want us out in the rain again."

They grabbed their brooms and stood just inside the doors, looking out onto what was affectionately known as "The Garden of Quidditch and Evil". The rain came down heavily, and they could see figures congregating at the center of the pitch.

"Sure you don't mind getting your hair all messed up, Weasley?" Blaise asked, smirking.

"Piss off, Zabini," Ginny said.

With that, the two walked out into the rain.

Obstacle course, Ginny thought as she rolled her broomstick left to dodge the large wooden arm that came swinging out. Essentially it was a large tunnel, with three Quidditch hoops at the end. Every so often, nearly certain death would fly toward your face, or swoop down from above, or explode like a bomb below. There could be no mistakes, or else you'd drop the Quaffle. Another player could toss it back to you, if they felt so inclined and weren't dodging lingering pain themselves. The walls were enchanted so that the teams and managers could watch from the stands, and even though each Chaser had his or her own "lane", they could all see each other as well. She dove to dodge a jet of flame as Blaise pulled ahead of her. That put her in second place, and she couldn't have that….

Climbing, she put on a burst of speed and shot forward, narrowly missing the padded arm that jutted down from the ceiling suddenly. They were flying side by side now, both diving under another wall of flame to fly closer to the hoops. They were outside of the obstacle tunnel, but all of this was for naught if she didn't make the goal. She swore as she flew out into the rain, and rolled to dodge a tackle from another Chaser. Ten in the tunnel, and ten waiting to prove themselves by stealing the Quaffle and going back the way the other Chaser had come. She didn't feel the slightest bit guilty elbowing her opponent in the stomach and flying off. She felt movement just above her and looked to her right.

Blaise had just cannoned into another potential threat. "Eyes open, Weasley!" he called above the rain. Just then, the man he'd pushed came back for round two. In the confusion, they lost hold of the Quaffle.

It fell fast, but Ginny was faster. She caught it and threw it back up to Blaise, praying the wind or another Chaser didn't take it. "Eyes open, Zabini!"

He caught it and scored.

She flew back up, dodging one last opposing player before shooting at the middle hoop. The Quaffle went through, and with a sound like a firework, the words "Weasley – 5:36" flashed above the hoop. She grinned and flew to the ground where the trainers were waiting with blankets. She'd beaten her best time, but would that be enough?

"You could've had the record!" Blaise said as the trainers wrapped them in fluffy yellow blankets. "What'd you waste time catching my ball for?"

"I could make a dirty joke right now," she said with a grin.

"I'm serious."

"You're telling me you wanted me to let you fail the course?" she asked incredulously.

"No, but…you could've had the camp record," he repeated sullenly.

"A simple 'Thank you, Ginny' would suffice, you know."

"Bloody noble Gryffindors."

"Bloody title hungry Slytherins."

"All right, you two, that's quite enough," one of the trainers said, ushering them to the warm dry area under a tent. "You two just sit here and enjoy the rest of the carnage."

"Carnage?" Blaise asked.

"We came through without a scratch," Ginny said.

"You did," the trainer said, obviously trying not to smile. "Not everyone else, though."

At that precise moment, there was a loud scream of agony from behind another tent flap.

"Peter zigged when he should have zagged," the man said. "He'll be fine with the help of a bottle of Skele-Grow."

"A whole bottle?" Ginny asked, horrified.

"Look at it this way – he'll have a great story to tell when people ask how he got his scars." With that, the trainer strode away, humming.

The next people to enter the tent were two managers. Ginny recognized them as Faustus Crizzlebreak from the Ballycastle Bats, and Teagan Melville from the Hollyhead Harpies. There was a lot of handshaking and small talk for a few minutes before Faustus said,

"We'll be speaking to all of the Chasers just after breakfast," he said in a voice like honey. "If you could pass the message along."

And just like that, they were gone, leaving Blaise and Ginny to watch the rest of the mayhem and ignore the groans from just behind the curtain.

Harry had burned so many things in his time that he knew not to attempt cooking without supervision. Thus, for lunch that day, he'd gone to the Indian take away place a few blocks down and brought back food for himself and Ginny. He checked his watch, eager to actually see his girlfriend for the first time in weeks. There'd been letters, and they'd talked via the two-way mirror, but he was near giddy at the prospect of being in the same room. And she'd been completely mum on the subject of which team she'd made. Harry hadn't bothered wondering if she'd made a team – of course she had. It was Ginny after all.

The key turned in the lock, and a moment later she was hugging him.

"All right, we can hug later," he said, grinning. "Tell me!"

"Can we eat first?" she asked with a small laugh.

"No! No food for you until you tell me!" he said, lifting her off the ground.

"And here I thought we were making progress with your patience," she said, shaking her head solemnly. The slight smile gave her away though.

Harry pouted.

Ginny laughed.

"Fine," she said. "I'll tell you all about it."

_***The Next Year***_

"I'm Michael Corner here with Lee Jordan at the last game of the season! It should be an exciting one, right Lee?"

"Definitely, Mike. This game will decide who goes to the Continental Finals this year. Plus, it's the second showdown between the two star rookies. I can't wait to see how this plays out."

Down on the field, the Appleby Arrows and the Hollyhead Harpies met in the center of the field to shake hands.

"Eyes open, Weasley," Blaise said, grinning.

"Right back at you, Zabini."

"Players, mount your brooms!" the referee called.

"See you in the air," she said with a wink.


	2. Pitch Me a Story

TITLE: Pitch Me a Story

SUMMARY: For centuries, battles roared inside Hogwarts' Quidditch Pitch. Amidst cries and cheers, between each victory and defeat, hundreds of other stories were told, with the silent titan bearing witness to each one of them. Some echo in there, still.

l. Pitch-Black

It was a perfect nightfall; not a cloud in sight, the moon and first stars so strong, even at this hour, that one would have little doubt believing magic actually pulsed in that land.

Andromeda ran a hand over the smooth wooden surface of the door, leading to a lower section of stands. That she adored the warm, clean feel of woodwork only made her feel even more of an outsider in her family. The Blacks, like many pure-blood families, seemed practically 'forged' in precious metals.

She surveyed the perfectly trimmed field, and how no speck of sand seemed out of place under the golden hoops. Still adjusting to the disappearing sun, her eyes spotted a moving shadow. Thirty meters above the hoops, someone flew in timed waves along the edges of the field.

Up and down he went, scanning the stands once, twice, before he found her. She made no effort to speed his search by making any sort of signal; not only was it beautiful to watch him fly, but even from those heights she could feel his smile broaden the second he spotted her. That smile was all hers, and Andromeda did her best to enjoy each one as much as possible.

Ted Tonks barely took a breath between dismounting the broom and running towards the Slytherin girl. A hand enveloped her waist and the other caressed her neck as he pressed his lips against hers, and felt her smiling into the kiss.

"You're covered in sweat," she half-complained, half-giggled.

"You're late," he countered, reaching for her lips yet again.

"Cissy ... would not ... mmm ... let me out of the Common Room." She firmly placed a hand on his chest to catch her breath. "And had you chosen a more convenient location, we'd be together sooner."

"True. But this is quiet, secluded, and if the sweat bothers you that much, there are showers in the team locker rooms," he winked.

Andromeda really wished he'd stop creating these mental pictures. And she REALLY wished she could stop her own mind from going further into those scenarios.

He smoothed her hair behind her ear, bringing Andromeda back to reality. "You mentioned your sister. Do you still believe she knows?"

"I'm sure she suspects quite a bit. Bella hasn't been very subtle about her inquiries, either."

"And you're not a very good liar." He smiled.

"And I don't wish to be." She looked directly at him, then down at her feet, rubbing his forearm. "I just want things to be easier." And then her voice was barely a whisper, "I'm happy. Why can't my family be happy for me? Why can't they be happy with me?"

Slightly rough hands closed around hers, leading them to Ted's chest. Feeling his heartbeats, she looked up to see her smile there, waiting for her. Just for her.

"What?"

"You said you're happy."

She couldn't help smiling back. "Well ... I am."

The kiss Ted gave her in response deserved a frame, a name of its own. It carried a scent, a rush that had only been previously hinted at, even when their lips first met.

Ted Tonks. Muggleborn. Quidditch lover. Outspoken and kind. Basically, just about everything she was taught to despise, all wrapped into a stubborn, smiling package.

And she loved him. She loved the way he made her feel.

Oh, you are in so much trouble, Andromeda Black.

It took another kiss. Then, the trouble didn't seem to matter that much.

ll. The Unbearable Lightness of Firewhisky

"This is not helping, Charlie."

"You didn't drink enough, Nym."

One of her eyebrows shot up. "Drinking way more than you, light-weight."

He laughed. "Hey, traditions are traditions. Loser buys the drinks."

"It's not a tradition, Charlie, we started doing this last year."

"Are we still doing it this year?"

After a brief silence, she took a long swig of the bottle. "Point taken. Still waiting for the silver lining, Charlie."

"Well, there isn't one, really. I'm afraid that as long as Gryffindor's spectacular Seeker is around, Hufflepuff's pink-haired Chaser and her valiant efforts will continue to pay the bill."

She shoved him, knocking him from the bench but unable to make the boy stop laughing. He had a point, though; Hufflepuff lacked a quality Seeker for years now. And even a decent one wouldn't find a way to beat Charlie Weasley up there.

"You'll see. Next year I'll blow a hole through that scoreboard. It'll be so big that it won't matter if you catch the bloody Snitch."

"That sounds an awful lot like a threat, Tonks."

"A promise, Weasley."

"I was under the impression you'd be up to your neck in books to become an Auror. How will you find the time to beat me?"

"Still enough talent from the neck up to run circles around you. I'll be fine," and then she waved her hand, knocking over the bottle.

"I can see that."

"Oh, bugger off." And then she looked at the remains inside the bottle. "How do you manage to score these, anyway? Giving Madam Rosmerta a little 'help' during the Hogsmeade trips?"

"Nym! The woman could be my mother!"

"Oh, I'm positive she'd be thrilled to call you 'daddy'..."

"Ah, what is wrong with you!?" and he raised his hands to cover his face, trying to erase the mental picture, while Tonks burst into even more laughter.

"You love me, Charlie Weasley, and you know it," she said between slower fits of giggling.

If only you knew how much, Nym.

But Charlie had been at that inner debate many times now to act. Friends. Only friends. Stop trying to guess what color her knickers are. You need help, mate.

Noises close-by drove Charlie back to reality – and just in time, since Tonks was about to question his glazed eyes.

"I thought everyone was gone by now," she mused, peeking over the railings to scan the pitch. "It's been a while since the game ended."

Both teenagers spotted a giggling couple, holding hands and making 'shhh' noises to each other. They approached one of the three hoop poles and the boy pinned the girl against it, with no resistance.

"Is that Amy Kendrick?"

"Looks like her. And that would be William Rees. Beats for Ravenclaw, right?"

"Wow. The sneaky little – she never told me they were seeing each other!"

"A lot more than seeing, it seems," he agreed, starting to feel uncomfortable watching the couple. I don't need ideas right now.

"Indeed. At this pace, tonight he'll be able to say: "Well, you already know William. Meet Willy"."

He paused, forcefully closing his eyes shut, and turned in Tonks' general direction. "You do understand I have a brother named William, don't you?"

"Yes," and the mirth was barely contained in her voice.

"Are you trying to make me unable to look him in the eye ever again? Besides, what are you, six? Who says ... ?"

Tonks pulled him under the railing, urging him to be quiet – not that her giggling helped in any way.

"They'll hear us!"

"And what exactly is the plan? Keep watching?"

Tonks was quiet after that, to the point where Charlie had to open his eyes again. And there she was, with a funny look on her face.

"What?"

Nothing, Charlie. It's not like I want to scream something inappropriate to scare those two off and have the place to ourselves. It's not like I want to kiss you, or you to kiss me, or us to – oh, you get the point. Well, no, you don't. You're so clueless, Charlie.

"You're right, we should give them some privacy." She got up with surprising quietness, considering she was Tonks. The couple was still oblivious to the rest of the world, so sneaking out wasn't be a problem.

"And get some privacy of our own," he mumbled, following her lead, much like he always did.

As they left the Pitch, and Tonks screamed to the top of her lungs "HAVE FUN, YOU TWO!" (causing Amy and William to jump and race for the locker rooms, and Charlie to nearly fall on his knees laughing), both looked at each other and walked back silently to the castle.

One of these days, Dora.

One of these days, Charlie.

lll. Phyxius

"There you are."

Teddy Lupin looked up from locker room floor, grinning.

"You never have much trouble finding me."

"That's because you always come to the same place when you want to be alone," Victoire said.

"So, if you knew I wanted to be alone ... ?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Being alone only makes sense if you don't have good company. And I'm excellent company."

Teddy laughed. "That, you are."

Smiling, Victoire sat down on the floor next to him. She pulled one of his arms over her shoulders to snuggle in, swung her legs over his lap and pecked his cheek. He returned the affectionate gesture by placing his lips on her forehead, and letting them linger there.

Knowingly, she reached for a pocket in his chest. The same picture was always there: his parents and him, a newborn baby.

"Your mother was so beautiful."

"Yeah. Grandma says I got her nose, and Grandpa's nose," he chuckled.

"She looks so happy, holding you." Then, she forced Teddy to look at her. "I know that you make them proud every day."

A lump formed in his throat. He tried to push it back down. "Do you mean that?"

Victoire tilted her head, kissing him gently. "Of course." She wanted to call him silly, but knew better than that. Of all the trials Teddy went through in his life, she knew today would be one of those days where he'd miss his parents the most: his Leaving Ceremony. Last day at Hogwarts.

"So what do I do without your marvelous company next year?" he asked her, forcing some much needed casualty to the conversation.

Always dodging, this one.

"Oh, you'll manage. Just barely, but you will. Ooh, which reminds me, your gift arrived!"

"Victoire, you shouldn't ha ..."

"Shhh! Did you open your locker already?"

"Why would I? I cleaned it up weeks ago after the last game."

"Oh, you may have left something here," she mused. "You always forget things."

Teddy looked at Victoire, not even venturing a guess. He pulled the wand from his pocket, tapped the locker to his right, and saw a long, thin package push the door forward. He caught it before it fell down.

The girl couldn't hold a smile. "Maman and Papa have a friend that makes these. It's a truly special craft. When he visited us last summer for dinner, I knew I had to give you one someday."

He started to say her name in protest, only to have her tiny hands waving around in his face.

"Stop being so noble and accept it already! Allez, ouvrez-le!"

Her enthusiasm was such, that Teddy had no choice but to open the package carefully, finding a beautiful broomstick inside. He didn't have to know a lot about brooms to know that Victoire was right: this was a magnificent piece, clearly well-tended and cared for during manufacture.

She pointed at the handle. "Look, I had it named. And I made the sigil myself," she added proudly.

"Phyxius. What does it mean?"

"Puts to flight," she said simply. "It's one of the meanings, but the one I liked best."

"Why?"

"It's because I wanted something that would protect you. Every time you feel lonely, or sad, I want you to fly and scare those thoughts away. I want you to remember that your mother and grandfather didn't give you only that beautiful nose; they gave you wings."

"They gave you wings to fight prejudice, and difficulties, and never give up on what you really want. They didn't. And you won't, either."

Ted kept staring from the name on the broomstick to the girl beaming at his side.

"I don't really deserve you, do I?"

"That's for me to decide, Teddy."

"I don't know what to say," he croaked, caressing her cheek. She put her hand over his, squeezing it.

"Well, the Pitch is just outside that door, and this is your last day here," she said, winking. Victoire got up, picked up the broom and waited for Teddy to stand.

"Say you'll fly, Teddy."


End file.
